Constituted Affections
by lienrur
Summary: Their relationship as photographs would be of papercuts, knucklekisses, and empty bottles. They think it's perfect, and at the same time, it doesn't matter, because life comes in waves they intend to get lost in. [Polyamory, University AU; Zosan, SaNami/ZoNami broship, hints of NaVi.]


_Constituted Affections_  
Life comes in waves they intend to get lost in.  
[Polyamory, University AU; Zosan, SaNami/ZoNami broship, hints of NaVi.]

by Lien Rur

* * *

Names

If he was ever told that he would be living with his childhood best friend (who is not only gorgeous but a genius) and her creepy ex-fuckbuddy who is obsessed with swords, working out, and kinky sex, and has _green_ fucking hair, he would have been absolutely livid about this future.

If he was ever told that he would be absolutely happy with two strong people looking after him and having a darling and a moss-for-brain to look after, he might have looked forward to it.

Sanji thinks he can relive tapes of this particular section of his life. Unlike his childhood, which was not too pretty, or his adolescence where he spent a great deal flirting and being weird and insecure, being twenty, sharing an apartment unit with two of the most cherished people in his life – out of four, he adds – while studying fashion design and working long hours somewhere that is nearly his dream job could not get any better. He thinks it might and his heart flutters at the thought – any better than this would be marrying his roommates. Sanji hasn't worked hard enough yet for that.

It's a quiet morning so Sanji uses the time to think. It's around six with fog clouding outside his windows and a damp chill in the apartment. He is the only one awake, of course. His best friend, Nami, stays up late and wakes up late. He remembers her tirelessly writing reports on her laptop late into two in the morning, when he'd gotten up and asked her to sleep, and she'd said she just needed ten minutes more but ended up passing out on the desk in the same breath. Sanji had brought her to her red bed, fluffed up her pillows and aligned her stuffed toys so they surrounded her, before he fell back onto his own blue sheets with the other one.

The other one, Sanji thinks sourly but with a chuckle, sleeps restlessly. At least, that's what it seems like to Sanji, because Zoro can nod off in two seconds and jolt awake, calmly, as though he wasn't asleep at all. His naps last from half an hour to three, at various times but with several intervals. Sanji started keeping count of the hours within a week of them three moving in together. He calculated that Zoro got a healthy seven to nine hours of sleep, miraculously. Sometimes Zoro would sleep the same time as they did, but often times he would nap at noon til dusk and wake at night for his band gigs and late night recording.

Right now, he sleeps. He heard him come home and turn on the TV for a minute before passing out on the couch at around midnight. When he checked up on Nami, Sanji saw him sleeping soundly in Sanji's bed this time.

Sanji clutches at the warm cup of sugary coffee in his hands and lets the steam heat the tip of his nose when he sips. This morning, even after trying to get out of bed as carefully as he could, Zoro woke, eyes open and clear. He stared up at Sanji who sat up on the bed and glared at him with a question.

" _D'you even sleep?"_

" _I should be asking you, you goddamn freak. You don't look morning-drowsy at all. That's fucking disturbing."_

" _Your face is disturbing."_

Sanji told him to sleep more because he knew Zoro only had an afternoon practice today, with a promise of a big breakfast – for Nami, he emphasized – and a house date when he woke up.

He thinks about what he should prepare for breakfast – no, it'll be brunch when Nami wakes up: standard chicken salad with extra dressing, french toast with apple filling, well done steak with baked potatoes, gravy, and rice, because Zoro has no concept of breakfast. Food is food, he always says, and Sanji approves despite his insults. He checks for apple-mango juice for Zoro, and there's half a bottle. There is ginger and chamomile for Nami. He finishes his cup of coffee and makes himself a cappucino for while he cooks.

It's a little past six and he enjoys the silence with more thinking. Remembering and comparing, mostly. It's easy to start with names. He is swirly-brows, and has always been since high school, but Sanji knows Zoro has used it way more than Nami ever did (and she doesn't, nowadays). Snailji is a pet name when the three of them play nice, but most of the time there is shitty cook for when he isn't cooking and curly when they're fucking.

Nami is angelcake, sweetie, darling, beautiful girl, precious woman, and various confectionary on a daily basis to him. Above that, though, she is best friend forever, Miss Nami, and used to be partner-in-crime. Zoro opts for harsher names that Sanji would never think of spitting out: vixen, devil bitch, spawn of satan, 'kinda hot, I guess?' 'what the fuck, mosshead'. Sanji and Zoro have both opted to calling her orangehead, but it doesn't stick that much.

Zoro takes the cake with names, Sanji muses. He chuckles when he pours the steamed thick milk into his mug. Sanji is responsible for many of his names while Nami cheerfully borrows from him. Zoro is primarily mosshead, sometimes mossbrain, and other moss-variations, as well as national treasure when Sanji learns about it, vegetable, broccoli when his afro grows out, wet broccoli when he works out, green power ranger, plant man, Shrek... They are all loaded with affection, and sometimes reverence, and then another, special kind of reverence when he's bound by the wrists and on his knees and refuses to call Zoro by his name when he's asked to even if his cock is dribbling precum on the floor.

The names give him not just a connection but a hold. Nami is not anyone else's angelcake or best friend forever. Zoro is not anyone else's master. No one can call Nami BFF without her cringing and slinking away _but him_ , and no one can ask Zoro to fuck them with a straight face and only calling his name _but him_. These names he has given - and they have gracefully received – are the favorite patches of his life. They are an easy warmth from his chest, a humble sensation on his tongue, especially the other way around. When Nami calls him BFF, back, though it is rare, because it means that she will hug him from behind and talk smack about her mom's rich friends. When Zoro calls him swirly or curly with a soft voice between silent kisses, and the one time Zoro called him by his name, Sanji's heart exploded and his vision filled with stars. That is one good thing best reserved for special occasions.

Sanji is peppering his cappucino with powdered chocolate when he hears heavy footsteps pad on the carpet. He doesn't turn around and sips on his coffee instead, relishing the chocolate sticking to his lip and the thick steaming coffee against his tongue.

"Nami passed out."

"Yeah. You did too," he replies, softly, because this is the only time they are ever soft. "We're eating in three hours. Sleep more." He gives him a look, and Zoro is leaning over an island counter with dark eyes, dried spit marks on his cheek, and nothing but thin pajamas. "Unless you're hungry. I can make you a snack, you damn heater."

Zoro perks up at the mention of a snack but shakes his head. "We'll wait for Nami."

That's where softness ends, because when Sanji turns around to get the oven starting, Zoro begins scoffing at his clothes.

"Are those five layers of pajamas?"

"I don't have ridiculous self-regulation, fuck you."

"You reptile."

* * *

 **Lien:** This will be a collection of self indulgent fics, not chronological but in the same setting. The POV will alternate between Sanji and Nami and Zoro. This will primarily be Zosan, SaNami/ZoNami broship, and hints of Nami/anygirl. I wrote this in an hour after an emotionally draining day. Any mistakes will be fixed up after a few chapters. Thank you for reading.


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